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Arangamallika

Dr Jyoti Lanjewar

Urmila Pawar

Kalyani Thakur Charal

Bama

Manju Bala

Sukhirtharani

Joopaka Subadra

Kavin Malar

Smriti Kana Howlader

Chandraben Shrimali

Du Saraswathi

VOICES FROM SILENCEDALIT WOMEN WRITERS’ MEET

TO EXPLORE SELF AND EXPRESSIONWITH INSPIRATION FROM

GURUDEV RABINDRANATH TAGOREADISHAKTI, PONDICHERRY

19TH-23RD APRIL 2012

SPSPSPSPSPARROWARROWARROWARROWARROWSOUND & PICTURESOUND & PICTURESOUND & PICTURESOUND & PICTURESOUND & PICTURE

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SPARROWnewsletter

SNL Number 25-26Number 25-26Number 25-26Number 25-26Number 25-26 May-May-May-May-May-JulyJulyJulyJulyJuly 20122012201220122012

Publication Number 73Publication Number 73Publication Number 73Publication Number 73Publication Number 73Published byPublished byPublished byPublished byPublished bySound & Picture Archives for Research on WomenThe Nest, B-101/201/301, Patel Apartment,Maratha Colony Road, Dahisar (E),Mumbai-400068Phone: 022 2828 0895, 2896 5019E mail: sparrow1988@gmail.comWebsite: www.sparrowonline.org

Editor:Editor:Editor:Editor:Editor:C S Lakshmi

Co-editor:Co-editor:Co-editor:Co-editor:Co-editor:Malsawmi Jacob

Publication Co-ordination:Publication Co-ordination:Publication Co-ordination:Publication Co-ordination:Publication Co-ordination:Pooja Pandey

Printed at :Printed at :Printed at :Printed at :Printed at :Mouj Prakashan Griha,Khatau Wadi, Goregaonkar Lane, Girgaum,Mumbai - 400 004Phone: 022 2387 1050

This occasional Newsletter for only privatecirculation, is published with the support ofStichting de Zaaier, Utrecht

CONTENTSEditorEditorEditorEditorEditor ’s Note’s Note’s Note’s Note’s NoteJab WJab WJab WJab WJab We Met:e Met:e Met:e Met:e Met: 2-09• A Report on Dalit Women Writers’ MeetApril 19th-23rd 2012—C S Lakshmi• Photographs of Dalit Writers’ Meet 10-11April 19th-23rd 2012• Poems and Story 12-17Book Review:Book Review:Book Review:Book Review:Book Review: 18-20• Two Buddhist Plays by Rabindranath Tagore• Tamil Dalit WritingEdited by Ravikumar & R Azhagarasan• Malayalam Dalit WritingEdited by M Dasan, V Pratibha,Pradeepan Pamprikunnu & C S Chandrika—Malsawmi JacobHomage :Homage :Homage :Homage :Homage : 21-22Indira Goswami, Sharada Dwivedi, Rani Jethmalani, Homai Vyarawalla,Dr Leela Dubey, Mrinal Gore & Captain Lakshmi Sehgal—Dr Maithreyi Krishnaraj & Malsawmi Jacob

[EEEEEditor’s NNNNNote]

TTTTThis special issue of SNL is a double issue that covers the Dalit Women Writers’ Meet held from April 19th to23rd. The Meet was made possible with funding from Sahitya Akademi under its Tagore Commemoration GrantScheme. It turned out to be an extraordianary event of solidarity, sharing and learning. In the pages inside we give

the details of the Meet and the effect it had on all the writers. The Adishakti campus at Pondicherry provided the perfectsetting for such a Meet.

This issue also carries three book reviews and homages to many women who have made our lives worth living. Weusually say that when women like those for whom we pay homage here pass away, it calls for a celebration. These womenhave lived exceptional lives which have made women’s history what it is today. Many of them have shared their life andwork with SPARROW. SPARROW takes pride in archiving their life and work. But even while we celebrate their life andwork, at times, losing them fills our life with a void that can be dealt with only by keeping their memories alive.

Do visit our website www.sparrowonline.org and look us up on Facebook and do write to us.

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Jab We MetJAB WE METJAB WE METJAB WE METJAB WE METJAB WE MET

EEEEEver since the Writers’ Meet we organised at Kashid beachresort in 2008, SPARROW has been thinking of organisinganother writers’ meet. This time we decided to organise a

different kind of meet and wanted to work on an idea we have beenhaving for quite a while now. The idea was to have a Dalit WomenWriters’ Meet. We felt that there was a great need for exploringself and expression from a gender and caste perspective. Even whilewe were working on this idea, the Tagore Commemoration GrantScheme was announced. We felt that it would be interesting to setthis meeting in the context of Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore’swritings which centred on gender and caste issues. We decided tocall the Meet, ‘Voices from Silence.’3-D MEET3-D MEET3-D MEET3-D MEET3-D MEET

We worked out a very different concept of the Meet. We decidedto plan the Meet more as a camp to bring together Dalit writers

at opening up of their life and expression possible and situatingtheir life and expression in the context of Tagore’s works Chandalikaand Laboratory and their resonances.

The 3-D methodology was intended as one that would dissolvetensions of interacting with one another and generate a camaraderiethat would open up dialogues. In an atmosphere where the Indianwoman is being defined in specific ways, it was important to revealIndian women in other cultural contexts, functioning, thinking andacting differently. We strongly believed that if this was not done,there was the danger of marginalising other cultural contexts thatare very important for broadening one’s view of life, women, historyand politics.

The methodology proposed is one of arranging a different kindof a meet and linking with it a process of sharing, learning andcommunication. This is an open method that allows sharing andlearning at various levels and is a participatory method. It is also amethod that combines several aspects and unifies them as a reading,

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from various regions. It was conceived as a 3-D (Dialogue, Debate,and Develop) Camp, , , , , which would create a space for communicationand sharing. While the purpose of the camp was to bring togetherwriters from many regions, some regions and some languagesbecame pivotal in the actual Meet. The reason for making the Dalit writers and the languages theywrite in the pivotal area in this exercise was that we decided thecore subject for discussion and dialogue will be caste and gender, asubject chosen with inspiration from Tagore’s works Chandalikaand Laboratory.

Women writing from the position of caste and their lifeexperiences and expression have not received the attention theyshould in terms of tracing contemporary literary history and thecontext of that history. The aim of the camp was to make an attempt

writing and sharing experience that creates awareness in the processof execution.

We decided to link many activities with the camp so that it becomesa multi-layered one. Theatre performances, screening of films,readings and discussions, meeting writers and publishers in andaround Pondicherry were included in the camp programme. Inthis context, we felt that the participants—about 12 in number—must be those who feel that this expression camp would be animportant dimension of their creative work. There would be nopressure to have results or obvious declarations of transformation.The idea was to create a space for sharing.

We wanted to structure the camp in a way where meals wouldbe provided in a common dining room and independent living roomsprovided. The venue must be in a surrounding where nature walks,

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with us to make the Meet planned as a camp a great success.Once the venue was decided we were all set to contact the writers

once the grant from Sahitya Akademi (Ministry of Culture) camethrough. But there were surprises in store for us.DEALING WITH FURIOUS CYDEALING WITH FURIOUS CYDEALING WITH FURIOUS CYDEALING WITH FURIOUS CYDEALING WITH FURIOUS CYCLONES, FCLONES, FCLONES, FCLONES, FCLONES, FAMILAMILAMILAMILAMILY ANDY ANDY ANDY ANDY ANDFLIGHT SCHEDULESFLIGHT SCHEDULESFLIGHT SCHEDULESFLIGHT SCHEDULESFLIGHT SCHEDULES

The grant did come through. But along came the Thane cycloneon 30th December 2011 that devastated the Cuddalore andPondicherry area. It looked like it would take at least three months forthe Adishakti campus which was hit badly by the cyclone, to be putback to shape.

Although we considered changing the venue and tried to look atother venues elsewhere, the advantages of holding the Meet in theAdishakti campus were far too many for us to think of another venue.It looked like it would take at least three months for Adishakti to be putback in order. The last week of March seemed a good time to hold theMeet.

So we began to contact several writers over the phone. The initialresponse was heartening but March did not seem to be a good timefor many. Children’s exams for some, teaching commitments for others,family functions, project deadlines for some others… It looked like wewould never arrive at a date for the Meet! Finally April 19th to 23rd

was arrived at which seemed to suit everybody.At the outset we had almost twenty writers who were going to

participate. But at the end we had 12 writers from 6 languagesparticipating in the Meet. Including the organisers there were 16people on the whole.

Train tickets were practically not possible for it was holiday seasonand the tickets had been booked three months in advance. So wethought we would stretch our budget a bit and book flight tickets forthose who were travelling long distances. And that is when all hellbroke loose! We booked some Kingfisher tickets only to cancel them in

reading facilities with a small library of select books and journalsand film-viewing facilities would be possible. There would be aroom to work in with writing tables. The daily sessions would beplanned as talk-sessions, read-sessions, write-sessions and share-sessions. The talk-sessions would be an extended breakfast sessionwhere some chosen people every day would talk about writingand being a writer and comment on Tagore and his works includedfor this camp. Every talk session would be followed by a read-session where there would be readings from the works of thewriters. The share-session would be an extended dinner sessionwhere some select invited guests would share their work andideas with the participants and interact with them. The eveningswould be free time for the writers to go for nature walks or goaround the city. One evening, however, was set aside for a theatreperformance.

A SPA SPA SPA SPA SPACE TO BEACE TO BEACE TO BEACE TO BEACE TO BESpace plays a very important part in the lives of women.

Given a certain space, women can bring out from within, whatthey never knew was there. Maybe one does not want to breakinto poetry or colours or music but would like a space to just be— to look out of the window and stare at a flower or a squirrel.Creating such a space can create dialogues, communication anda sharing which may not otherwise be possible. The idea of ashared space even while having a private space to retire to wasthe notion that was at the heart of this extended and exploratoryactivity structured as a 3-D camp. This camp was planned as afive-day camp and we thought we would do it in March 2012.

In our plans space was very crucial. The Adishakti campusseemed to be the ideal space to have our Meet. It was simpleand elegant with a beautiful auditorium and it had a team ofprofessionals who were warm, friendly and efficient. VeenapaniChawla, the Director of Adishakti, was most willing to cooperate

AdishaktiAdishaktiAdishaktiAdishaktiAdishakti

CampusCampusCampusCampusCampus

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and a voice reading the text, it would be easier for people to followthe text. The second Power Point Programme was part of the entireMeet. We also chose films to be screened along with other parts ofthe programme and a play on a spirited Dalit woman to be stagedthe first evening. The play was Molagapodi by the Kattiakari groupdirected by Srijith Sundaram.

Coordinating with us from Pondicherry was the Adishakti teamand writer, publisher and Dalit activist Ravikumar.

For the writers and all of us to know and understand expressionit was important to meet other writers and publishers in andaround Pondicherry. We decided to include Professor K AGunasekaran, Ravikumar, Ki Rajanarayanan, Yazan Aathi and MiniKrishnan. 85-year old Ki Rajanarayanan is not a Dalit writer butbelongs to a small village in Tirunelveli district and all his storiesare woven around this village and many of them have women ascentral characters. He currently resides in Pondicherry and is agreat raconteur of his own experiences and that of others.Professor K A Gunasekaran is the author of the first Dalitautobiography entiled Scar. Ravikumar as stated above, is a Dalitactivist who is also a writer and a publisher. Yazan Aathi is aDalit poet and activist who is a teacher in a school in Ambur.Mini Krishnan is with OUP and has already brought out twoanthologies of Dalit writings in Tamil and Malayalam.

Thus we planned the Meet as a Meet where there would besome serious writings to read as preparation for the Meet. Therewould be films to view to understand the Dalit experience in variousparts of India, open conversations sharing life and experiences andwriting. There would also be occasions to share ideas and thoughts,time to rest and reflect, sing and dance and enjoy and also open upone’s writing world to that of other writers and their languagesand also discuss Tagore and his times and also talk of howDr Ambedkar was an inspiring figure in each one’s life. Theexchanges were not to be dry and academic but thought-provokingand informal and warm in nature.

the last minute for we were worried Kingfisher may cancel the flightsgiven its problems for there was news everyday of cancelled flightsand stranded passengers. And we had to book flights in a way thateverybody would arrive at Chennai and take a van from there toPondicherry. Coordinating the flight schedules was not easy but thewriters were very supportive. The Kolkata flight was an early morningone and unfortunately the day the flight was booked was declared aBandh day. So Kalyani Thakur Charal, Smriti Kana Howlader andManju Bala had to reach the airport the previous night but theynever complained.

And then there were some cancellations. A particular writer hadto rush to the US to be with her daughter and she forgot to tell us!Another writer was so sick that when I rang her up and she pickedup the phone I thought it was a gentleman from her house speaking.I began to explain that I wanted to talk to the writer and she explainedit was indeed she who was speaking! Another writer’s son fell illand she could not come either. But she could not tell us till the lastminute about it. Another writer on whom we had banked spokeenthusiastically throughout only to tell us at the end that she couldprobably come just for an evening. We had to tell her that it wouldnot work. One writer had unexpected office work, another had asudden bout of ill health just when she had planned to book theticket and two others had to decide not to come because they hadcommitments they could not cancel although they had thoughtthey could reschedule them, it was not possible.

And that is how we became a group of 12 writers and 4 organiserswhich made 16 of us. And that is also the reason why the Meetbecame a close, intimate, warm and friendly one where everyonecould bond well.PREPPREPPREPPREPPREPARING FOR THE MEETARING FOR THE MEETARING FOR THE MEETARING FOR THE MEETARING FOR THE MEET

While choosing Tagore’s writings we had chosen Chandalikaand the story Laboratory to which we now added the filmLaboratory based on Tagore’s story Laboratory which talks abouta Dalit woman taking charge of the laboratory of her scientisthusband. The story was written by Tagore a year before his death.We bought the book in which Chandalika was included and boughta copy of the film.

We began to prepare an extensive reading kit for the participantswith a short note on Tagore, both the texts of Tagore andcommentaries, articles on Dalit literature, interviews with writers.Soft copies of the entire reading material were sent ahead of timeso that discussions and interactions become fruitful. An actual kitwas also prepared with the book which had the Chandalika playand hardcopies of all the reading material including a booklet inEnglish and other languages on Urmila Pawar brought out bySPARROW. We wanted the reading material to be the foundationof the entire Meet opening doors for dialogue and interaction.

We prepared two Power Point Programmes, one introducingthe writers with a photograph and short introduction and anotherone with sample writings of each writer in the original languageand English translation with a voice over reading the English text.We felt that with the text appearing on the screen in large letters

Amhihi ItihasGhadawala: UrmilaPawar and The MakingOf History,July,1998

Urmila Pawar, the Marathiwriter whose writingsreflect Dalit experiences ofliving. In Urmila’s narrationof her life, one can seemany stories and in herstories, one can see herlife.

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EARLEARLEARLEARLEARLY MORNING TELEPHONE CY MORNING TELEPHONE CY MORNING TELEPHONE CY MORNING TELEPHONE CY MORNING TELEPHONE CALLS AND LALLS AND LALLS AND LALLS AND LALLS AND LAAAAATE NIGHTTE NIGHTTE NIGHTTE NIGHTTE NIGHTCHACHACHACHACHATSTSTSTSTS

I reached Adishakti two days earlier to work with the Adishaktiteam to make all the preparations. But theAdishakti team had already efficiently carriedout everything that SPARROW had specified.In the Kashid Beach Resort writers’ camp wehad put different language writers in oneroom and initially there was much protest.But at the end of the workshop everyoneappreciated this unusual roomingarrangement which opened up an entirelydifferent communication among writers. Wefollowed this arrangement in the Adishakticampus also. Early morning on the 19th, came the callfrom Du Saraswathi saying she had arrivedand that she should be picked up from thebus stop. Saraswathi was the only one comingfrom Karnataka. All the others had droppedout and their bus tickets had to be cancelled.Saraswathi has an authoritative way ofspeaking and I was looking forward tomeeting her to find out how this person withan authoritative voice looks! An earlymorning cab had been arranged to pick her

up and I went myself to pick her up. When I saw her I burst intolaughter for there stood before me a slightly older version of theyoung Sarasu/Sarasi I knew some twenty-five years ago. We hadspent a lot of time talking about women’s issues and women activists,walking all around Bengaluru and sitting in parks. She was surprisedthat I had not recognised her voice.

I showed her to her room and then got busy with the theatregroup that arrived around 10-30 a.m. for the evening performance.There were twenty-five of them and there were three transgenderwomen in the group, one of whom was Living Smile Vidya who Iwas familiar with for she had written a very moving autobiographicalaccount of how she became a transgender. The group had startedtheir journey very early in the morning and looked tired. But theybegan rehearsing immediately. They were looking forward to notonly the evening performance but also the chicken biryani we hadpromised for lunch!

In the evening arrived a van load of excited writers along withPooja, Priya and Aarti who had successfully managed to coordinatetransporting them from Chennai to Pondicherry. But they werelate by an hour and a half. The evening schedule that was to beginto at 5 p.m. could start only around 7 p.m. All of them loved thecampus and if they were a little apprehensive about a totally differentlanguage writer sharing their rooms, they did not voice it.

Thus the evening began with a lot of excitement and informalitywhich set the pattern for the entire Meet which did not rigidly stickto the scheduled programme but made it a flexible one which madeeveryone comfortable.

The inauguration began with a couple of songs by Smriti KanaHowlader in her resonant voice that set the tone of the evening.

The writers were welcomed and thenintroduced with a power pointprogramme after which the playMolagapodi was performed.Although subtitles were not availableall the writers enjoyed the play.

They were all given their readingkits and realized there was muchreading to do although theyplanned to chat through the night.

Our initial plans were to beginevery day early as April is a veryhot month and we were all in non-AC rooms. But Adishakti worked ona different schedule as their workershad to come from faraway places.So we did some rescheduling andarranged the screening of the filmLaboratory before breakfast the firstday.

After breakfast on the 20th beganconversations with Bangla writers.Kalyani Thakur Charal Kalyani Thakur Charal Kalyani Thakur Charal Kalyani Thakur Charal Kalyani Thakur Charal spoke

Ravikumar

Ki Rajanarayanan

Prof. K A Gunasekaran

Yazan Aathi Mini Krishnan

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0.6passionately about what it was to be a Dalit and a writer; she spokeabout her father with great respect, admiration and emotion.According to Jaydeep Sarangi who has translated Bangla Dalit writers,until the early 1990s, Dalit voice in literature did not find its placein Bengali literature and women especially were positioned muchbelow in the hierarchical ladder of caste and sub-caste. Among theBengali Dalit women writers, Kalyani Thakur’s name stood outprominently.

Kalyani said that she had seen oppression and exploitation inthe name of caste and had experienced poverty. Her father, originallyfrom Jossore, Bangladesh, migrated to Bogula in 1949. Her father’sbenevolence was well known. People used to come and meet him.He worked for the cause of people. He was a non-teaching staff ofBogula College. He was a follower of Matua dharma. ChandranathBasu who was known as the ‘Gandhi of Faridpur’ used to like herfather. Her father was instrumental in spreading education in theirlocality. There were a couple of books in Bengali on his philosophyof life. Her father shaped her thoughts, Kalyani said. Her motherwas not highly educated but she was very supportive of her children’seducation.

Kalyani also spoke about her early diary notes and early poemsand how poems came easy to her. She also spoke about prejudicesat the workplace and how caste was a constant factor in her life.About Tagore she said that the play Chandalika was a play set inthe context of Buddhist philosophy. While she appreciated Tagore,the person who inspired her most was Dr B R Ambedkar.

After the conversation she read out one of her poems in Banglaand the other translated poems were shown on the screen with avoice over reading them.

The conversation with Manju BalaManju BalaManju BalaManju BalaManju Bala followed. Manju Bala writespoems and plays. She is a member of the Dalit Sahitya Sangasthaand joint secretary of Chaturtha Duniya Patrika & Editor of AkhonTokhan Patrika. With her short hair and jolly nature Manju lookslike a school girl. But when she began to speak about Dalits andtheir life she became extremely serious and when she spoke aboutrituals and how they bind women and how a widow is generallytreated, she was in tears. What she was trying to say was that aswomen all of us share certain experiences. She also spoke abouthow children are socialized to believe in caste. Manju Bala readout one of her poems in Bangla followed by a reading of her poemsin English.

The next conversation was with Smriti Kana HowladerSmriti Kana HowladerSmriti Kana HowladerSmriti Kana HowladerSmriti Kana Howlader. . . . . Sheis a trained musician and has done her Sangeet Visharad in Classicaland Nazrul Geeti. She is a radio artiste for folk songs. She isconsidered an expert in Dalit songs. She is the editor of Jana Jagranmagazine. In 1993 she received Dr Ambedkar Fellowship fromBharatiya Dalit Sahitya Akademi and has attended several Dalitconferences and performed. She writes her own songs, writes poemsand stories and also composes music.

Normally no Dalit meeting is considered complete if Smriti Kanadoes not sing one of her songs. So this conversation also beganwith one of her songs. After the song everyone felt close to SmritiKana. Smriti Kana spoke generally about Dalit life and why she

feels it is important to write the songs she is writing and singing.She read out one of her poems and the English translations wereread out after that.

The Bangla writers with their candid conversation and songsmanaged to make the rest of the writers eager to talk and sharetheir life and experiences. So Chandraben ShrimaliChandraben ShrimaliChandraben ShrimaliChandraben ShrimaliChandraben Shrimali came next toconverse and spoke easily and with humour about her life and herwriting. Chandraben Shrimali is a renowned writer in Gujarathi. Shehas several published books to her credit and has been seen as thespokesperson of Dalit women. She has received many awards andprizes in the competition held by Samkalin Daily (Indian ExpressGroup). She is also the editor, publisher and owner of Chahna, aweekly newspaper from Gandhinagar. She is the first Schedule CasteWoman MLA from 1985 to 1990 for 7, Dasada Constituency,Dist Surendranagar, Gujarat.

Although Chandraben’s laughter is infectious, beneath that veneerof humour, her narration of the life of Dalit women was very moving.She spoke about her supportive husband who is no more, and herfamily and her work as an MLA. She also said that her story Stairswhich is about a Dalit tenement where a staircase is broken and afull-term pregnant woman who keeps complaining about it finallyslips on the staircase when she goes to fetch water and has amiscarriage, was an autobiographical one.

Chandraben also said that Tagore had been extensively translatedinto Gujarathi and that she was more than familiar with him. Aboutbeing a writer she said jokingly that whenever she was somewherethe people always referred to her as an ex-MLA and that she doesnot like to be an ex-anything. No one can refer to her as an ex-writer ever for she would never stop writing!

Chandraben read out parts of the story Stairs in Gujarathi andthe English translation was read out after that.

The lunch that followed was filled with laughter and a warmcamaraderie.

After lunch was the screening of the film The Hidden Story bySikha Jingan. This documentary is the story of four peasant womenfrom different parts of India.

The poignant documentary prepared the ground for listeningto two very important writers from Marathi whose life and strugglesmade the hot afternoon seem like a much longer one than it was.

Urmila PawarUrmila PawarUrmila PawarUrmila PawarUrmila Pawar has been associated with SPARROW for manyyears now. She is a Marathi writer whose stories are based on Dalitexperiences of living, working and existing. Many of her storiesare derived from the pain, agonies and difficulties of living as awoman and as a Dalit. The frank and direct manner of her story-telling and the earthy language she uses in her stories have madeher a controversial writer in Marathi. But there is more to UrmilaPawar than just the controversies raised by her stories.

Urmila Pawar is a self-made woman. She was born in Panaswalevillage in Ratnagiri district and later her family shifted to Ratnagiri.Urmila was the youngest among seven children. Her father, whowas a school teacher, died when Urmila was in the Third Standard.Her mother, who was uneducated, brought up her children byweaving baskets and selling them. After passing her Matric, Urmila

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0.7joined the Public Works Department. She did her MA privatelylater. Urmila’s autobiography The Weave of My Life has receivedvery good notices and is an example of the kind of person andwriter she is.

Urmila Pawar spoke about her mother, how she used to weavebamboo baskets to educate them, about her life as a writer andabout caste being a constant factor in her life, never to be forgottenor set aside. She said that Tagore was not an unfamiliar person.She said that Laboratory and its dealing with a Dalit woman andher life and her daughter was interesting. She read out parts of herautobiography after which an English translation was read out.

Dr Jyoti LDr Jyoti LDr Jyoti LDr Jyoti LDr Jyoti Lanjewaranjewaranjewaranjewaranjewar who spoke after Urmila, about her writingand life is one of the foremost Marathi women writers, widelyacclaimed and much anthologized and also a pioneering Dalit womanpoet today. A noted critic, poet, columnist, activist, short storywriter, biographer, linguist, feminist scholar and academic. She hasauthored more than 15 books and remains one of the leadingvoices in modern Indian poetry today.

Jyoti Lanjewar spoke about her family andhow it was a family that haddedicated itself to thecause of DalitsinspiredbyAmbedkarand howher motherwas apassionatefollower ofAmbedkar. Hermother,ShuddamatiBondhate, hadworked in BabaSaheb’smovement and had beenin the forefront in meetings andmarches for justice for the Dalits. Shewas the president of the Samata Sainik Dal andJyoti Lanjewar was the secretary. When Jyoti’s brotherdied in one of the protests to rename Aurangabad University hermother had said that if she had another son she would gladly offerhim for the cause. She died saying Jai Bhim and Jyoti becameemotional talking about her mother. As a university lecturer andhead of the Department of Marathi she was able to not only teachMarathi literature but also be a prolific writer. Her determinationseems to have begun early for a poem she wrote as a young girlgoes thus:

Don’t underestimate meI may be wearing bangles

But they can turn into weaponsAnytime

Her famous Mother poem was read out by her and then three ofher poems in translation were read out. Speaking about their mothers, Urmila and Jyoti had kindledmemories of mothers and daughters in the hearts of everyone thereand the afternoon that seemed to hang heavy now began to feellike a womb of comfort. At the end of it a cool evening breezebegan to blow and the first day ended with soft exchanges, sharingof anecdotes about families and mothers, some loud laughter andquiet reflection.

The Open Heart with Hot Chocolate session in the night afterdinner, reflected the day’s shared experiences and the writers wereeager to interact with guests Mini Krishnan and Ravikumar.

Mini spoke about her interest to promote and makevisible Dalit writing in all Indian languagesthrough Oxford University Press and about howthe Tamil and Malayalam anthologies werebrought out. She was happy to have anopportunity to meet all the writers and thewriters began to talk about the publishingscene in their respective languages.Ravikumar spoke about his efforts tofight for the Dalit cause and about hiswriting and publishing of magazinesto promote Dalit literature and howhe entered politics with some kindof idealism to fight for the Dalitcause. He frankly agreed that hedid do whatever was possiblebut that many compromiseshad to be made and hewondered if things can change

given the present mindset that had madecaste a major factor in elections. Saraswathi

questioned him about losing hope and chided him aboutgiving up but Ravikumar was clear about his stand. He said that he

was not a pessimist but someone who wanted to understand thereality of politics.

After that the writers would have been ready to retire for the dayone would have thought. But they were making plans to sit in theirrooms and chat through the night. They had to be gently remindedthat they must open their reading kit and try and browse throughsome of the material.COMING CLOSER WITH CONVERSACOMING CLOSER WITH CONVERSACOMING CLOSER WITH CONVERSACOMING CLOSER WITH CONVERSACOMING CLOSER WITH CONVERSATIONSTIONSTIONSTIONSTIONS

The second day of conversations began with Joopaka SubadraJoopaka SubadraJoopaka SubadraJoopaka SubadraJoopaka Subadra.She has a post-graduate degree and is currently Deputy Secretary,Government of Andhra Pradesh, Secretariat, Hyderabad. She writesshort stories, poems, essays, book reviews, reports and songs. Shewrites a regular column in Bhumika, a feminist monthly magazine.She has translated Bama’s Sangadi into Telugu. She is editor ofNallaregadi Saallu, a book of short stories of Madiga sub-caste

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women. She is an editorial board member of Dalit Voice and UdyogaKranthi. She is currently a research fellow at Anveshi Research Centreworking on Dalit Women Governance in Panchayat Raj. She hasseveral awards to her credit and is Founder Member ofMATTIPOOLU (SC, ST, BC Minority Women Writers’ Forum).Subadra is an extraordinary person whose photographs show her asa very serious person. She is an extremely serious person when itcomes to talking about Dalit life experiences but otherwise we alwayssaw her singing aloud, dancing and laughing, encouraging othersto join her. She was a person who believed in fighting for justice butalso celebrating the moments of being together with other writerswhose life experiences she could relate to.

Subadra detailed how in her childhood she always felt that thetext books did not reflect the life around her. The parents and childrenin the text books were not the parents and children she knew. Shewondered about this often. She said that Dalit women saw everythingin the context of their life and their life was very different from whatwas seen as mainstream. She spoke about her poem on the saripallu to explain how even a sari pallu meant something else to Dalitwomen. She also spoke about her continuing to work to make thevoices of Dalit women and their lives heard. Her book of stories ofMadiga sub-caste women is one of the efforts in this direction.

Her poem on the sari pallu was read out in Telugu and translationsof her poems were then read out.

Subadra’s poems had electrified the atmosphere. So Du Du Du Du DuSaraswathiSaraswathiSaraswathiSaraswathiSaraswathi had to come and add some laughter to it.Du Saraswathi has been associated with the Women’s Movementand the Dalit Movement for the last 25 years. She is an illustrator,a theatre artiste and a writer. She has written two poetry collectionsand an autobiographical account. Saraswathi is also a good mimic.So we asked her to start her session with some mimicry. She readilyagreed and mimicked cries of different vendors on the street andthe others burst into laughter. Then she acted out men smoking indifferent postures and manner and there was a fresh burst of laughter.After that even the travails she spoke about did not seem so bad.She spoke about her work with sweepers, her autobiography andthe column with a rural girl as a main character she writes to talkabout various issues. She also said that Tagore had been extensivelytranslated into Kannada and was a familiar writer there. She spokemovingly about working with the sweepers and about how muchremains to be done.

As a part of the interaction after Saraswathi’s conversation therewas also a short introduction to other Dalit writers who could notcome. The moving story of a young innocent Dalit boy who workedas a servant written by B T Jahnavi was referred to and told in detail.

It was time for a film and SPARROW’s film on Vithabai, a Tamashaartiste, was screened. Just before the screening the much-awaitedBama arrived. She could not join us earlier because she could notget leave. The other writers were eagerly waiting for her for all ofthem were familiar with her works. So when she arrived there wasgreat excitement. Then they all settled down to watching the filmand were moved by Vithabai’s narration of her life and the strugglesshe underwent.

The afternoon session began with Arangamallika.Arangamallika.Arangamallika.Arangamallika.Arangamallika. Arangamallikais a professor of Tamil in Ethiraj Girls’ College, Chennai. She has apoetry collection and an essay collection to her credit. Her poetryis laden with images that are part of everyday life like bus journeys,fields of crop, mud pots and menstruation. Often wind and waterappear in her poetry as if to lighten the burden of life but they onlyblow away dreams and flood ordinary lives. She writes about desireand in one poem evokes mythological images of Kama being burntby Shiva. Sometimes her words can kill but Arangamallika wouldargue that when life can give death to some, words must too, forher words arise from very deep within her life and her circumstances.Arangamallika is a diminutive figure and is a great orator but isknown as a person who keeps aloof otherwise. But the first twodays in Adishakti had affected her positively for she began to speakwith warmth about what it was to go to school and college with thetag of caste and how her mother encouraged her to study. She alsospoke about how she had grown up in a Brahmin household andhow she did not feel discriminated in that sense within a familialatmosphere. In the work place caste did figure sometimes but shehas learnt to deal with it. As a single person she spoke about howdifficult it was to find a partner in life and how sometimes life isfilled with loneliness. Her poem Land was read out in Tamil andother poems followed in English translation. The youngest among the writers was Kavin MalarKavin MalarKavin MalarKavin MalarKavin Malar who had alsohelped us with coordination. She is a young journalist fromNagappattinam. She lives and works in Chennai and plays a veryactive role in fighting for justice for the Dalits and for otherunderprivileged. She has written a few stories and poems and workswith the Tamil magazine Ananda Vikatan. Kavinmalar began by talkingabout her mixed parentage. Her Muslim father and Dalit mother’smarriage was one of the few inter-religious marriages conducted byPeriyar himself. So she had grown up in a political atmosphere andshe used to sing and speak on progressive platforms. The mixedparentage did not directly affect her but it did create identity problemsat times. She considers herself both an activist and a writer. As awriter she does not specifically write about the Dalits but aboutrelationships, youth and living as a single woman in a big city. Shesaid that her story Dissolving Shadows of the Night wasautobiographical. Even as she was explaining how the story spokeabout two friends and how marriage affects their friendship, shebegan to choke with tears. The intimate atmosphere of the Meethad made all the writers come together in the off-session times andyoung Kavin Malar’s tears moved everybody. Kavin Malar quicklygathered herself and her story was read out in Tamil and English.

SukirtharaniSukirtharaniSukirtharaniSukirtharaniSukirtharani, a much-acclaimed poet, came next to share her lifeand her poems. Sukirtharani holds an MA and MPhil in Tamil. Aqualified teacher, she works in a government school in Vellore district.She is currently pursuing an MA in English. She has four collectionsof poems to her credit - Kaipattri en kanavugal (2002), Iravumirugam(2004) Avalai Mozhipeyarttaal (2006) and ThiindappadathaMuththam. Sukirtharani is a rare poet whose poetry can speak aboutangst with unusual imagery and language. Her poems on body, desire,longing and frustration are infused with words with no embellishments

0.8Jab We Met

that plunge in like sharp knives. She is considered one of the mostpromising poets of present times.

Sukirtharani began by saying how her caste affected her evenduring her school days. In school she had insisted on removing theChristian middle name she was given and wanted to be known onlyas Sukirtharani which did not denote any caste or religion. But othersknew her caste and she was always relegated to the back benchesand often sat alone there. It was difficult to get over the humiliationof it all. Sukirtharani paused here to come out of those memories.She spoke about how she loved Tamil language and how writingoffered her great solace and how she wears her identity with pridenow. She also spoke about not having many friends and being single.Tagore as a literary figure was known to her although Chandalikaand Laboratory were new texts to her. Sukirtharani’s Tamil poemwas read out after which her poems in English translation were readout.

The post dinner Open Heart with Hot Chocolate session beganwith Smriti Kana singing one of her songs. It became very interestingwith Ki Rajanarayanan, Professor K A Gunasekaran and Yazan Aathiparticipating in a spirited session of stories, personal anecdotes andsinging and dancing. Professor Gunasekaran had brought an artisteto accompany him on the drum and at the end of the session hebegan singing the songs from his plays. Sukirtharani and Subadragot up to dance. The mood to sing and dance continued evenafter the guests had left.BAMABAMABAMABAMABAMA’S LIFE, BAMA’S LIFE, BAMA’S LIFE, BAMA’S LIFE, BAMA’S LIFE, BAMA’S STORIES’S STORIES’S STORIES’S STORIES’S STORIES

BamaBamaBamaBamaBama is recognised as a writer who has brought a forcefulDalit voice to contemporary Tamil Literature. She worked as ateacher for seven years and later joined a convent to serve as anun. She left the convent in 1992. She works at present as ateacher in Ongoor, which is near Uthiramerur, where she is based.She has published three novels, Karukku (Thorny Edge of thePalm) (1992), Sangathi (News) (1994) and Vanman (Malice)(2002) as well as two short-story collections, Kisumbukkaran(Troublemaker) and Oru Thathavum Erumaiyum (A Grandfatherand a Buffalo) (2003).

A session with Bama was the most awaited one. On the thirdday Bama began talking about her life softly and when she beganto speak about how she joined college with just what she waswearing and waited for her mother to come with her trunk andhow her mother came looking tired and worn out, as alwayswhen she talks about her mother, her eyes became wet. Thenshe spoke about leaving the convent and the period of greatdepression when she wrote her first novel. She said that castecontinues to remain a factor to deal with even now when she hasa house of her own and is a respectable teacher. Despiteeducation and a career, she has chosen to lead a life isolatedfrom the rest of the village for the problems of dealing withpeople are too many and too emotionally exhausting.

Bama’s session seemed to open a flood gate of tears.Arangamallika hugged Bama and began to cry and a few othersjoined while Urmila consoled them saying, ‘Don’t cry we are all

in the same boat.’ It seemed as if words that had remained frozenin the minds for several years were brought out in the Meet andbrought together writers from different parts of India.

Talking about the Meet, Urmila said that she was happy shecame despite her ill health and that she was thrilled to meetwriters like Saraswathi and Bama. Jyoti said that April was a monthof loss for her for she had lost her son in the month of April butthis April Meet would change her way of looking at the month asa month of loss. Kalyani said that all the trouble they took ofreaching the airport the previous night was written off with thewords spoken in the Meet. Manju Bala said that what peoplespoke did move her deeply but that she would not like anyone tocry. There was a heated exchange on whether tears meantweakness and everyone said that emotional melting should notbe seen as weakness. Smriti Kana spoke about resisting caste ineveryday life and said how during Durga Pooja upper caste girlswere dressed as goddesses and her daughter used to be calledto play the drum and how she refused to send her. All thesefactors need to be told again and again, she said. Subadra spokeagain about the education system not reflecting the reality aroundand how much needs to be done. Kavinmalar said that she hadlearnt a lot from the Meet and that she was inspired to writemore. Sukirtharani said that she was going to write anothercollection of poems which she would dedicate to all the writersin the Meet. Arangamallika said that the Meet unlike so manyother literary Meets she had attended had broken her reserveand had made her mingle with others and speak to them warmly.She said she liked this change that had come about in herpersonality. Bama commented that the Meet had given her asense of belonging, of being needed and wanted.

While Tagore’s Chandalika and Laboratory were appreciatedas texts that had triggered off the conversations on caste, genderand expression, the other dimensions that the Meet took ofspeaking across languages, of staying within close contact in aspace that allowed them to converse, discuss, debate and reflect,were much appreciated. The Meet has been digitally documentedand is currently being edited.

The Meet came formally to an end early next morning whenall of us got into the bus to go to Chennai to reach our respectivedestinations. Each writer carried with her the reading kit andthe gift of two books: Two Buddhist Plays by Rabindranath Tagoreand Tamil Dalit Writing edited by Ravikumar and R Azhagarasan.Bama had left the previous evening and Saraswathi the previousnight. Everyone felt that we needed a Meet like this every yearwhere we could come together to converse, share and let go.

As the bus came out of the gate of Adishakti campus, all of usknew we were going back to our usual routine of work andeveryday life, but as we looked out of the bus window at thepassing scenery, each one of us was carrying with her memoriesof words spoken and laughter and tears of five wonderful days.

—C S Lakshmi

0.9 Jab We Met

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1.0Photos

Hot Chocolate Session with guests, Mini Krishnan & Ravikumar

Writers posing for a photograph

Joopaka Subadra & Kalyani Thakur Charal

Smriti Kana Howlader inaugurates the Meet with songs

1.1 Photos

Concluding session & discussion C S Lakshmi in conversation with Manju Bala

A scene from the play Molagapodi. Living Smile Vidya performing

C S Lakshmi in conversation with Sukirtharani Joopaka Subadra talking about her life and writing

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1.2

P O E M S

KALYANI THAKUR24

What a nice game it isLalgarh, LalgarhA play with green and red

The red blood ofBodies blackMakes the green grassOf jangalmahal red

What a nice game it isBetween green and red

(Translated by Shrish Roy)

ARANGAMALLIKA

LAND

Land –Fields rippling with harvest,Gentle morning breeze of abundance for some,expanding at timeslike Bharati’s prayer for a piece of land.Blood-sucker of labourers,Bestower of a day’s meal too,Tireless supplierof crops plants creepers trees,Alchemisttransforming tenantsinto landlords,Nourisherfeeding caste-furyto the upper castes,A promisein times of election.Land –for the Dalitsa foetus-killingmelting hot liquefied iron.

(Translated by C S Lakshmi and Arundhathi Subramanian)

JOOPAKA SUBADRASARI-END—NOT A RAG TO KEEP SENTRY ON MY BOSOM

Having clung to my hunger,My sari-end hangs on my bellyLike deity Maisamma at the embankment

When I become a stream of sweat working for wages,My sari-end would blot the sweat on my face as breezeWhen I bundle the star-like grains, tubers and granules inmy sari-end,It twinkles on my head like the moon.When wearied having worked in the fields and crops,The sari-end offers me relief as a cloth for napping on thefloor.When my sorrow drizzles from eye to the sky,My soiled sari-end takes me to into its bosom like motherWiping off my tears.

When my irate husband fumes and frets on me,I readily find it handy in the fists like a lump of butterTo wipe off my tears.The sari-end, a rag that is—It’s the first casualtyIn the hands of the man within and the man outside homeTo drag me for molestation.

In the rain, my sari-end forms into an umbrella of flowersof cassiaKeeping the lock of my hair warm.The sari-end becomes a warm bonfire fondling my cheeksand earsAs a wrap on my shoulders.It provides a shade on my faceAt the sunlight in the hot noon or the whips of sunstroke.It shields me from the biting chilled looks of the sunlight.

When I fetch water,It becomes a rounded-pad below the water-pot on my head.It burns its fingers when used as a cloth at the mudstove.Forming into a pouch,It fondles my child when I’m at work.It lick dust on my body as a cow would lick its just born calfIt forms into a drape over the wet menses-cloth

If the rag of my sari-end is a clarinet around my waist,The songs of plantation, weeding and threshingWould give it chorus.

The rag of my sari-end—

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1.3It’s an inalienable part of my sweat and work and bedMy pleasure and sorrow.As a companion, the rag of my sari-endDaubs the mud on my body in the path of my life

When is it that it hangs on my bosom?My sari-end is at work ceaselesslyIt’s not a rag to keep sentry on my bosomIt’s not a burden on my heartHow do I blame it in public?How could I survive setting it aflame?

(Translated by Dr K Purushotham)

DR JYOTI LANJEWARMOTHER

I have never seen youwearing one of those gold-bordered sariswith a gold necklacewith gold bangleswith fancy sandals.Mother! have seen youburning the soles of your feet in the harsh summer sunhanging your little ones in a cradle on an acacia treecarrying barrels of tarworking on a road construction crew…

I have seen youwith a basket of earth on your headrags bound on your feetgiving a sweaty kiss to the naked childwho came tottering over to you,working for your daily wage, working , working…I have seen youturning back the tide of tearstrying to ignore your stomach’s growlsuffering parched throat and lipsbuilding a dam on a lake…

I have seen youfor a dream of four mud wallsstepping carefully, pregnant,on the scaffolding of a sky scrapercarrying a hod of wet cement on your head…I have seen youevenings, untying the end of your sarifor the coins to buy salt and oil,putting a five-paise coinon a little handsaying “go eat candy”taking the little bundle from the cradle of your breast

Poemssaying “Study, become an Ambedkarand let the baskets fall from my hands”…

I have seen yousitting in front of the stoveburning your very bonesto make coarse bread and a little somethingto feed everybody, but half-fed yourselfso there’d be a bit in the morning…

I have seen youwashing clothes and cleaning potsin different householdsrejecting the scraps of food offered to youwith pridecovering yourself with a sarithat had been mended so many timessaying, “Don’t you have a mother or sister?”to anyone who looked at you with lust in his eyes…

I have seen youon a crowded street with a market basket on your headtrying always to keep your head covering with the end ofyour sarichasing anyone who nudged you deliberatelywith your sandals in your hand…

I have seen you working until sunsetpiercing the darkness to turn toward home,then forcing from the doorthat man who staggered in from the hooch hut…

I have seen youat the front of the Long Marchthe end of your sari tucked tightly at the waistshouting “Change the name,”taking the blow of the police stick on your upraisedhandsgoing to jail with head held high…

I have seen yousaying when your only sonfell martyr to police bullets“you died for Bhim, your death means something”saying boldly to the police“If I had two or three sons, I would be fortunate.They would fight on.”

I have seen youon your death bedgiving that money you earnedrag-picking to the diksha bhumisaying with your dying breath

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“Live in unity…fight for Baba…don’t forget him…”and with your very last breath“Jai Bhim”

I have seen you…I have never seen youever wearing a new gold-bordered sari

Mother, I have seen you…

(Translated by Sylvie Martines, S.K. and Vimal Thorat andEleanorr Zelliot)

SUKIRTHARANII TELL THEM UPFRONT

Peeling the skin of dead cows,I shooed the crows away.Boasted that I atefresh, steaming ricewhenreallyI waited hoursto eat leftovers.

On the streets,I skulked,every timemy father passed by,leather-drum round his neck.

Friendless,I wept,on the back bench.When my teacher caned me,

I didn’t revealfather’s occupation,income per annum.

NowIf anyone asksI tell them upfrontI am a parachi.

(parachi: A woman of the Dalit Paraya caste. The word isused as an abuse by caste Hindus)

(Translated by K Srilata and Subashree Krishnaswamy)

DU SARASWATHIBACHISU

Narasimha got up late. Usually an early riser, he wasutterly exhausted with the work of the previous day. The‘Festival of Bengaluru’ had generated a lot of garbage andmuch sweeping had to be done. Today he slept tillafternoon. Rising at two, he had his meal and started forthe market, where he would look for some wage labour asa coolie.

‘Appa’, his beloved daughter Lakshmi called out‘Yes dear?’‘Appa give me money if you have some. I have some, and

I shall buy half a kg mutton and cook it for dinner.’Tears came to Narasimha’s eyes as he looked at his pregnantdaughter filling up the doorway. He had brought her homea week back. Since then, far from mutton, not even ricecooked with jaggery had been made. ‘Curse this bloodypoverty…’

Seeing tears in her father’s eyes Lakshmi said, ‘It’s alright,leave it, Appa…’

‘No, no, I have money with me; pregnant daughter athome and I didn’t even ask what she would like to eat, so Iwas feeling bad…’ He dug into both pockets and producedforty rupees totally, which he gave to her saying, ‘Here,don’t waste your money; buy the meat, just for yourself,and make it. The Mariamman festival is approaching: weshall cook more meat at that time and have it.’ And he left.

It’s not for me, Lakshmi was about to say. But she did notsay it, as she wanted it to be a surprise. Instead she calledafter him, ‘Appa, I will make half kg mutton and also ragiballs. You come home early, so that you can eat it hot.’

Narasimha was moved by her love. He retraced his stepsand held her face in his hands and caressed her cheeks. ‘Imust have been your son in a previous birth,’ he said.

‘Appa is Appa, I must tell Mama to settle down here.Back there, is not even a piece of land, and no coolie workeven as there has been no rain. At least we can be of help toAmma and Appa if we come here,’ Lakshmi thought. Shetook a bag, fastened the door, and started for the muttonshop, ruminating. ‘It is winter. I must not buy sheep’smutton, which is said to be ‘cold’. It is not good for Amma,who leaves for work early in the morning. I shall buy goat’smeat, cook it nicely and serve it to her hot. Poor Amma; godis so cruel not to have written a good life into her fate.’

She quickened her pace. At that moment the little one inher womb kicked hard, as if to remind her of its existence.She addressed it: ‘Hey shut up! You’ll get your share throughme, why are you kicking up a noise?’ She laid a careful handon her stomach for a moment in reassurance before shemoved on.

She bought half a kg of goat’s meat from the mutton shop.Then she bought ginger and coriander in a small vegetable

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Poems 1.4

shop, and in Kaka’s shop she bought coconut pieces andchana dal. She came home and cut the meat into small piecesand smeared it with turmeric powder. She lit the kerosenestove and heated groundnut oil in a vessel, added onion,garlic and ginger to the hot oil and stirred it as it sizzled.Mixing the meat into this, she covered the vessel with aplate. As the meat cooked, she washed the grinding stoneand ground a mixture of coconut, chana, coriander, bayleaves, garlic and ginger into a fine paste. ‘This masala willgive the meat an irresistible flavour; at least today Ammamust eat her fill; she has not so much as touched the ragiballs for three days,’ thought Lakshmi.

Lakshmi knew very well what makes Amma go off food.As a little girl she regularly accompanied her mother on thesweeping round, despite Amma’s protests. Amma wouldwant her to sleep a little longer, go to school. Stay back,Amma would say, ‘Get up and wash your face and askGrandma next door to comb your hair; eat roti and then goto school.’ This was Anjinamma’s daily morning chant. ButLakshmi ignored it. Fond of sleeping on Amma’s tummy,she knew when Amma got up, and would rise with her. Shedid not like to be left alone at home. Deaf to Amma’sinstructions, she would follow her everywhere. If she wasforcibly left at home she would cry at the top of her voice.Sometimes Amma would shout in frustration, ‘ I have sweptroads with you in my tummy and kept you as a baby by theroadside as I swept. No wonder you can think of nothingbut the broom. God has written the broom into your fatetoo. No school in your fate…’ Yet, while she took Lakshmiwith her she never let her touch the broom. In warmweather she made Lakshmi play under a tree while sheworked. Sometimes Appa made a swing with a rope and agunnybag for Lakshmi to play. After the sweeping round,Appa went to the market for coolie work, and Amma hadjobs in two houses nearby where she cleaned vessels,washed clothes, and did the sweeping and swabbing.Lakshmi often followed her to these houses too, and thenher mother fed her all the leftover eatables that she wasgiven in these houses. Sometimes she went with her fatherto the market, where she got carrots and sometimes fruits.Appa would search the best in the waste and wipe it cleanwith the cloth on his shoulder before he gave it to her.Lakshmi laughed to herself remembering what her husbandhad said —‘Eating nice food in the city you are like a purebred jersey cow!’ Let him come here, she smiled, and I shallcall him ‘skeleton ox from the drought area’ and pull hisnose! She added salt to the meat. The mouth wateringaroma of meat cooking with garlic and onion rose warmfrom the pot.

She gathered the ground masala from the grinding stone,washed the stone and collected the water also; and addedthe masala to the meat. The aroma of this will make Ammaeat a bellyful, she thought. But when will her life be freefrom the brooms? Whenever Amma lifted the stinking deadcats and dogs she would stop eating for two-three days.She was able to only drink coffee, tea, gruel. She would not

touch food.After the masala paste was added, the flavour of the meat

filled the house. Appa will sniff it and say ‘Merely to smellit makes me hungry. If I eat I can eat not less than two ragiballs.’ Whatever I prepare it’s nice for him. But Amma cookstastier than me. She is good in whatever she does. I musttell her to prepare dry fish and fried avarekalu. Though shedoesn’t like the strong smell of fish, she will not mindcooking it for me. Again Lakshmi reflected, by god’s grace ifsomething works out Mama and I can settle here. It will begood for amma and appa.

***

At this very time Anjinamma was trying to gather all herenergy into pushing the cart containing four plastic drumsof garbage, up a slope. The garbage lorry stood at theroadside on top of the incline. Her shoulders were tired,thighs were shaking. She reached the lorry and told Obalesusitting in it to lift the drums and empty the garbage into thelorry. Then she sat under a roadside tree to rest a bit.

Anjimamma is always neat. She pulls her hair into a tightbun and holds it in place with hair pins. Not a single strandever falls on her face. The pallu of her saree is tucked tightinto the waist so that it does not get displaced whilesweeping. To tuck it tight she ties her under-skirt tight. Ontop she wears the green coat on which Swacha Bengaluru isinscribed. She does up all the buttons of the coat. Whethershe sweeps the road, cleans the gutter, lifts the garbage, orplucks the weeds, she never makes her clothes dirty.Perfectly neat in her job, she maintains her personalneatness also, which is why people in the area call her fordomestic work. She is small built. Generally her face isexpressionless; but when she smiles her face is lit up andtransformed. She stands straight with one hand kept behindher. Her speech is direct and forceful like an arrow. It isonly when she speaks that one makes the acquaintance ofthe indomitable spirit in that petite body.

Earlier Anjinamma, along with others, had worked atclearing the wilderness for developing the beautifulresidential extension Vidyanagar, which had come up in thearea earlier called Sannathimmenahalli. It had been full ofthorny or poisonous weeds, ant-hills, mounds and ravines,congress grass, snakes, and varieties of insects, when shejoined the job of cleaning this area 10-12 years back. Hersalary was just 300 rupees. When contractors had come toKullappa Palya slum to recruit people for cleaning work theyhad promised that the job would be made permanent underBangalore city Corporation. The Narsimha—Anjinammacouple had been among many who joined eagerly in thehope of a permanent job. Ten-twelve years passed to thechant of ‘a contract now, permanent later’. The contractorsfished in the waters of innocent people’s sweat, and caughtthe fish of profits using the contract as some kind of fishingrod with the worm of permanent job hooked to it. Thecontractors led a cosy golden life while the lives of poorworkers were burnt as coal.

Story 1.5

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Pulling out big weeds to clear the land the workers neverknew whether their hands would next touch a snake orshit... Unafraid of the snake, unshaken by the shit, theyworked at clearing the vegetation and levelling the pitsand troughs and made the grounds even. The land wasdeveloped into a beautiful posh extension but the lives ofthe workers remained unchanged. Even this drudgery didnot kill Anjinamma’s spirit. If unquestioning faith is theessence of devotion then one can call Anjinamma a perfectdevotee, worthy of a place by her god.

Wages never flowed as fast as the workers’ sweat flowed.Moving upwards slowly the wage level had reached 1000and got stuck there. Comrade Unnikrishnan has beentirelessly telling the workers that according to the rulesthey must get minimum wage of 1800/- per month, andalso gum boots, gloves, mask, PF & ESI. ‘The owners arethugs,’ he keeps saying, ‘they give 1000 rupees to you, andget your thumb print and in the books maintained for thecorporation they show it as 1500 rupees. They make profitout of poor workers’ blood and lead five star life style. Youshould all learn reading and writing, and unite to protectyour rights.’ Unikrishnan is ‘Sameru’ (lord) for Anjinamma,though he insists on being addressed as comrade.Anjinamma is as faithful to the struggle as she is to her god.She who worked so sincerely had a mighty heart andunbending spirit.

As she was sitting under a tree, her eyes began to water.She was not crying. This had been happening for the pastfew months. The doctor who examined her said that hereyes required an operation, after which she should rest fortwo weeks and avoid dust and dirt. Recalling this,Anjinamma thought, the maistri who would not even allowus to eat breakfast, and who shouts at us if we put ourbehinds to the ground even for a few seconds—will he giveleave for 15 days? He speaks as if his boneless tongue wagswithout control. When Nariamma asked for a new broomas it was worn out he asked her to remove her saree anduse it to sweep. Can’t he respect her age at least? Let himsay such things to me, I will scratch his face with the back ofthe broom. If one takes leave for two days one is sure oflosing the job, how can one get two weeks’ leave?Particularly after the episode of Ayudha Pooja arathi he islooking for opportunities to get his own back at me.Anjinamma silently laughed remembering that episode.

How we fought for the new salary, went and met manybig people many times, shouted so much in front of thecorporation office. The Commissioner said it will happen;the Government passed the order for the new salary. Daysmoved ahead of the orders day but their salary laggedbehind. Our footwear, legs, money, voice, everything gotworn out. It was unbearable. She could not restrain herselfwhen the inspector came for checking, and burst out askingthe owner, ‘What Samy (Swami), our salary came to thecourt, to the Vidhana Soudha, and also to the corporation,but we have not got it in our hands, we have not seen it

with our eyes. It is not a favour that we are asking for, Samy,we are only asking for the price of our sweat. You would beblessed if you give, we shall light lamps in your name.’ Theowner was furious and turned away as if someone had putchilli in his asshole. Later on how he shouted at and insultedher.

The day after the incident, Anjinamma was worried thatshe may lose the job. Instead there was a message from theowner to get all the carts to the next ward to do AyudhaPuja and take bachisu.

The workers were hopeful of the new salary also. Whenthey went, all preparations for puja were ready and theworship was about to begin. However, they were not invitedto join the puja or bring their carts for it. The owner watchedthem covertly with cruel satisfaction in his eyes. Whenarathi was made, the workers were ignored. Anjinammaquickly understood the insult and told the others ‘Come,let’s go back’. As they turned their carts, the owner said ina loud voice, ‘For lifting the garbage they want the samesalary as an office-goer. But just the word bachisu madethem come here sniffing like dogs,’ and he spat.Anjimamma had to swallow the insult but it was like poison.

The next day Anjinamma collected 10 rupees from eachworker, and things needed for pooja were brought. Theywashed all their carts. They timed the pooja for the owner’sarrival and offered arathi to him. He in his embarrassmenthad to put 200 rupees on the arathi plate. He wanted toleave immediately. Before he left Bagya offered him a smallsweet packet with 50 rupees tucked in the rubber band. Hetook it and was about to give it to the driver, when Anjiammapolitely said, ‘Please take the gift from us poor workers, itis out of hard earned money, take it home and give yourwife and children, let all of you be blessed.’ Rememberingthe incident Anjiamma wiped her eyes. Because I don’t cry,she thought, god has given me this eye problem to remindme that eyes are for tears.

Maistri came there, and seeing Anjimamma he shouted,‘We don’t pay for simply sitting, get up and go to 7th Road;some dead thing must be stinking there, someone hascomplained.’ She got up and went to 7th Road withoututtering a word.

As soon as she entered the road the stink hit her nose.She quickly found the source. It was under the stone slabnext to the gutter. She guessed how it had happened. Thewoman in the stone building always buys buns to feed thestreet dogs. To escape from the big dogs the little puppyhas gone under the slab to eat and has got stuck betweenthe slabs and died. No way to remove it with the broom: ithas to be lifted by hand. God has again snatched away mytwo days’ food, she said to herself, and let her hand intothe hole. As the carcass had decomposed, it disintegratedas she tried to lift it, and only part of it came up in her hand.She shoved the slab to a side with the broom and pushedthe rest of the carcass onto a plank; covered it with mudand threw it into the plastic garbage bin. The smell was

Story 1.6

nauseating. She went to the public tap, took her bit of soapfrom its hiding place, and turned the tap open with herforearm to wash her hands. She washed them two-threetimes. Then she went to give attendance in the must, andleft for her round of domestic work. By the time she finishedher work in the two houses she was drained of all energy,physically and mentally. Dragging her aching legs slowly,she reached home.

Lakshmi was waiting on the doorstep. Seeing her mothershe said in happy excitement, ‘Wash your hands and feet,Amma, there is hot water.’ Anjinamma felt through herfatigue, it is I who should be pampering her, instead she islooking after me. To assuage her guilt she murmured, ‘Someavarekaalu is lying in the kitchen, tomorrow I shall comeearly; tell appa to get dry fish, I’ll make a tasty gravy of fishand avarekaalu for you.’

Lakshmi’s eyes danced as she thought of the treat thatshe had prepared for her mother. ‘Amma, you can even havea bath if you like, I have heated enough water. I’ll scrubyour back for you.’

‘I’ll have a bath,’ Anjinamma acquiesced. ‘No need toscrub my back. But make some tea, I’ll have it after my bath.’

It’s time to eat and she wants tea, Lakshmi grumbled toherself. Not eating, drinking tea and coffee all the time hasdried up her insides. Let her bathe and come, I’ll make hereat well today!

She heard her father calling outside, and hurried out togreet him.

‘Gently, dear, take care. I’ve brought jilebi and khara foryou. Is your cooking done?’

Lakshmi winked. ‘Amma does not know.’ Narasimhanodded and washed his face as Lakshmi poured the waterfor him. Anjinamma came out after her bath and asked forher tea. ‘No tea for you, you have become like a dry stick,’Lakshmi scolded affectionately. ‘You come and eat.’ Sheserved out meat gravy and ragi balls on three plates andtook her mother by the hand and seated her before a plate.She smiled mischievously. ‘Didn’t your nose get theflavour?’

Filled with the stink of dead dog, Anjninamma’s nosecould not discern the delicious aroma of the food that herdaughter had cooked for her.

‘Taste and tell me how it is.’ Lakshmi’s face bloomed withhappiness. Seeing this, Anjinamma tried. She picked withher fingers at the ragi ball; but its texture felt like thedecomposed body that she had handled earlier in the day.Tears welled up in her eyes. They were real tears of grief.

Not understanding the tears Lakshmi remarked, ‘You musthave that operation. I shall stay and take care of you. Eat,Amma, you won’t enjoy the food if the ragi balls go cold.’

Narasimha was engrossed in eating, silently appreciativeof his daughter’s culinary skill. Except for the bent headand the steady sound of munching, he may have beenmeditating.

The daughter was fulfilling the hunger of the big tummy.

Anjinamma got up for water. As she was taking waterfrom the pot, some spilt on the floor. She looked for thecloth to wipe it. Observing this Lakshmi commented, ‘Godhas not written in your fate that you are to eat properly.’Before she could complete the sentence she felt a catch inher waist and the baby moving downward. Frightened, sheshouted, ‘Amma!’

Anjinamma went to her swiftly and held and consoledher. ‘Don’t be afraid. If you get pains twice more we shall goto the hospital.’ But it seemed the baby had been waitingto taste the delicious meat before trying to come out.Narasimha broke his meditation and ran to get Ramanji’sauto. Lakshmi’s pains came again, more frequent andintense. She held on to her mother tightly, and left her onlywhen taken to the labour ward. Without much delayLakshmi’s ‘Chinna’ arrived in this world.

The newborn had only two fingers in the right hand andthree in his left hand. Those fingers too were not properlyformed. The doctor pronounced that a surgery could beperformed after three months, which would remedymatters to the extent that the child would be able to usehis hands. Silence fell on the room. His three listeners werein wordless agony like a bird pierced with an arrow throughthe chest. The child cried loudly as if to break the silence.

Anjinamma pulled the arrow from her chest and spoketo the doctor. ‘How much money would the operationrequire?’ Narasimha, in the meantime, held the newbornagainst the warmth of his body and stroked his daughter’shead gently.

After speaking with the doctor Anjinamma came up toher daughter and seeing her pensive face said, ‘You mustnot lose heart at misfortunes in life, Lakshmi. When godgives us good things we take it with both hands; when hegives what is not so good we must accept that too and neverrefuse it. Only say to him, you gave me this, now show methe way to deal with it. My dear, the child will be all rightafter the operation; did you notice how active he is, howstrong his voice when he cried?’

Lakshmi replied, ‘Amma, I was pensive only because Iwas recalling how much you tried to make me go to schoolbut I never heeded you; now there is no way but to sendthis child to school. You ask why? This child can only hold apen in two fingers and never a broom. God has given thisgift, why should I refuse?’

(Translated by Radha Arun & Du Saraswathi)Bachisu: Tips or bakshishMama: Mama or ‘maternal uncle’ is also used for husband incommunities in which it is customary to marry the maternal uncle,actual or removed.Avarekkalu: A variety of beans, are a favourite food among Kannadigas.Owner: It is a colloquial usage in Bangalore for the boss in a privateset-up. For example, the word may be used by a domestic worker torefer to the head of a household. Unnikrishnan uses theword to refer to the contractors.Must: Place where the workers gather three times a day to giveattendance.

Story 1.7

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1.8Book Review

T wo Buddhist Plays by Rabindranath Tagore, transcreated from the Bengali by Shyamasree Devi, consists of The Court Dancer and Chandalika. As suggested by the title of

the book, the two plays are embodiments of Buddhist teaching.The Court Dancer (Natir Puja) has as its central character a girl

named Srimati, a professional dancer and a devotee of the Buddha.Srimati has been chosen by the Buddhist Order to offer worshipbefore the Buddha stupa on Vasant Purnima day. Knowing this,Ratnavali, the eldest princess, out of spite insists on making herdance at the same time and at the same place, and influences theking, who issues an order. This would have been sacrilege. ButSrimati obeys the order, and turns the dance into a beautiful act ofworship.

Several conflicts are presented in this drama. First, there is theconflict between the old religion and the newer one, which turnsviolent. Followers of the other religion kill the Buddhist nuns andmonks. And at the king’s orders, the dancer Srimati is also slain.

The conflict between detachment and desire is expressed byQueen Lokeswari. Her husband, King Bimbisar has abdicated, givingway to Prince Ajatsatru, who wants to rule. And Prince Chitra, hercherished son, has left home to become a Buddhist monk. “Somehave offered flowers, some lamps—I have given away my family,my home…. Must I still offer puja? You uproot the creeper, andthen ask for flowers?” she says bitterly. And she laments, “I am awidow, though my husband lives. I am childless though I have ason.”

There is also the conflict of arrogance and class pride embodiedby Ratnavali, the eldest princess, against religious devotion andhuman equality personified by Srimati, the court dancer, whomRatnavali is bent on humiliating. Ratnavali is not able to accept thata mere dancer has become a devotee held in honour. She tellsSrimati, “I don’t intend to visit heaven with you as my tourist guide.I would rather have death than a dancing girl masquerading as amoral guide.” And when a Buddhist nun is murdered, she casuallyremarks, “The Bhikshuni was killed by Devadatta’s men. Why worryabout it? Her father was just a farmer.”

All these conflicts are resolved in the final scene. Srimati is struckdown by a guard while asking for forgiveness at the same time.Queen Lokeswari throws down her jewels and chants the Buddhistmantra. And finally, even Princess Ratnavali falls down at the feetof Srimati’s corpse. The Buddha has triumphed.

A striking feature of The Court Dancer is that all the mainactors are women. Even the two guards at the palace garden arewomen. And though King Bimbisar, King Ajatsaru and PrinceChitra—major characters—are talked about, they do not appearon stage. Only the women are seen and heard. This is remarkable,considering that when the play was first written, it was still veryrare for women to act in theatres.

Chandalika is a short play of only two scenes. It deals with thesubject of untouchability. Prakriti, the main character, is aChandalika. When she wants to buy milk from a milkman and banglesfrom a bangle man, the girls from her village tell the sellers “Shameon you. Don’t touch her. She is a Chandalika. She is untouchable.”

But Prakriti’s life changes when a Buddhist monk named Anandaasks her for water by her well. When she replies that she is aChandalika so her well water is impure, he replies, “I am a human.You are a human too…. Any water that soothes and cools thethroat is pure.” And he calls her “blessed maiden.”

After the incident, Prakriti pines for Ananda and persuades hermother to bring him to her through magic spells. This causes himsuffering. But when he arrives and she asks him to forgive her, hereadily does so.

The theme of forgiveness, non-violence and equality as taughtby the Buddha are eloquently brought out in the Two BuddhistPlays.

Chants, songs and poetic language are effectively used in boththe plays. Besides, the plays conform to the Aristotelian classicalunities—unities of action, time and place. But they do so in asmooth, easy manner, unlike the stiff form adopted by some neo-classical dramatists.

Thus, Two Buddhist Plays is of interest from different angles.—Malsawmi Jacob

Translated from Bengaliby Shyamasree DeviPublisher: A WritersWorkshop PublicationNumber of Pages: 75Price: Rs. 100/-

TTTTTwo Buddhist Playswo Buddhist Playswo Buddhist Playswo Buddhist Playswo Buddhist Playsby Rby Rby Rby Rby Rabindranath Tabindranath Tabindranath Tabindranath Tabindranath Tagoreagoreagoreagoreagore

Congratulations to social activist Ela BhattEla BhattEla BhattEla BhattEla Bhatt for being selected forthe Indira Gandhi Prize for Peace, Disarmament and

Development 2011.Ela Bhatt, founder of the NGO Self-Employed Women’s

Association (SEWA) was selected on 19th November, 2011 forthe award constituted by Indira Gandhi Memorial Trust by aninternational jury headed by Prime Minister Manmohan Singh.The award was announced by trust secretary Suman Dubey, whosaid Bhatt’s life is “a lesson in dedication and commitment incaring for the under-privileged and weak, in devoting oneself tothe welfare of others.”

Ela Bhatt also founded the SEWA cooperative bank, the firstwomen’s bank in India. Dubey said Ms Bhatt has been selectedfor the award for her “lifetime achievements in comprehensivelyempowering women in India and elsewhere through grassrootsentrepreneurship, access to shelter, healthcare, micro-finance,micro-insurance, skills, legal services, collective bargaining powerand many other means, and thereby promoting equitabledevelopment and peace.”

1.9 Book Review

The Oxford India Anthology of Tamil Dalit Writing, editedby Ravikumar and R Azhagarsan, contains a collection ofwritings for over a century. The volume includes 78 selections

and 41 writers from late nineteenth century to recent times. Itcovers poetry, fiction, drama, autobiography, biography, and archivaland contemporary critical prose. The book may be considered themost representative collection of Tamil Dalit writing in recent times.

Tamil Dalit writing first established itself as a protest literature,but eventually went far beyond it, challenging stereotypes. In thisvolume both types—those written with strong Dalit consciousnessand those with the wider scope of human condition—are included.

The book has eighteen odd pages of informative GeneralIntroduction where the editor Ravikumar traces the history of DalitIdentity and of political development in Tamil Nadu.

The poetry selection of this volume ‘simultaneously affirms andinterrogates the Dalit identity.’ They not only capture the reality ofDalit life, but move beyond it to convey the totality of Dalitexperience, of the ever present threat of caste-based violence. Inthis process, the poets harness the idiom and lore of their peoplefor creating striking images. Here is a powerful example:

The ‘dung milk’my forefathers were given to drinkis what I’m vomitingas poetry. (‘Missing’ by Yazhan Aathi)

The poets in the selection do not toe a generic line but use theirindividual voices in conveying the experience:

A wilderness of reeds….where you canwash your cattlerinse your shit-ragsclean your arse

where we alonemay not fetch

water. (‘Pond Where…’ by Ravikumar)

In terms of language use, some critics have accused Dalit poetryof relying on harsh and even abusive diction to convey its message.However, this is not true of all the poets. ND Rajkumar, for instance,does not believe in confining poetry within ideology and a look atsome of his poems in this collection would refute the accusation.The simple but lovely poem ‘My Son Wants Me to Buy Him a toyCar’ for instance:

My son wants me to buy him a toy carIt’s shut inside a glass case; so I give himA play cart fashioned from palm fruit and twigs.

The short story of Dalit writers is often semi-fictionalised recordsof events. Hence they are true to life in a literal sense. Several ofthe stories in this book demand the reader’s engagement and evoketheir conscience. These are not meant to merely entertain or inform.‘Ailment’ by Abimani is a case in point. Ravikumar’s ‘On Knowingthe Truth’ is a highly emotionally charged story whose beauty liesin its understated narration. JB Sanakya’s ‘The Force of Gravity’ isanother terrible yet beautiful sample that strongly appeals for humancompassion and understanding.

On the other hand, stories like S Thenmozhi’s ‘Paychi Tree’,Bama’s ‘This Man’ and Azhakiya Periyavan’s ‘Eardrum’ have adifferent kind of appeal. They showcase certain characteristics ofthe community with a humane and humorous touch. Imayam’s ‘TheBinding Vow’ deals with the villagers’ superstition from which thepujari receives rich dividend. The story of a little girl calledMaikkanni in an excerpt from Bama’s novel ‘Events’ has deeppathos with a veneer of humour.

The Prose section consists of archival materials, speeches,autobiographical writings and scholarly articles. These writings areintellectually stimulating.

Veerammal’s ‘Ideological Difference with Periyar’ is anautobiographical piece but written in the third person. Here shemakes an interesting suggestion to promote inter-caste marriagesto do away with untouchability. Bama’s ‘Karukku’, describing castediscriminations and exploitation of the poor in convent schools,contrary to the religion’s teaching, is disturbing. Caste discriminationpracticed among Christians and the educational backwardness ofMohammedans are the objections made by Iyothee Thass againstconversion to these religions in ‘An Argument Against Conversion’from the Archives section. The Inspector General of Registration,Madras, had suggested that the only way for the ‘Pariahs’ toprogress was to convert to either of those religions.

It is commonly admitted that translation from one language toanother—and with it from the sensibility of one culture to another—is no easy task. The translator may be faced with a choice betweenmaking it read well in English and faithfully conveying the originalsense. Perhaps in opting for the latter, in some parts of this bookthe language is a bit stilted and clumsy.All in all, the anthology makes an engrossing read.

—Malsawmi Jacob

Edited by: Ravikumar &R AzhagarasanPublisher: Oxford UniversityPressNumber of Pages: 334Price: Rs. 595/-

TTTTTamil Dalit Wamil Dalit Wamil Dalit Wamil Dalit Wamil Dalit Writingritingritingritingriting

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2.0Book Review

T he Oxford India Anthology of Malayalam Dalit Writing presents the works of writers from the early twentieth century to recent times, covering a period of over 100

years. The volume contains 55 selections of poetry, fiction, plays,archival prose and critical works by 36 Dalit writers and is editedby M Dasan, V Pratibha, Pradeepan Pampirikunnu andC S Chandrika.

Malyalam Dalit literature draws its energy from engaging withanti-caste sentiments. Mainstream critics and reviewers, unable tounderstand or accept the truth of Dalit experiences and perspectives,often label their writings as ‘bitter’, ‘biased’, ‘militant’, ‘angry’,and tend to exclude them from ‘serious literary’ writing. MostIndian publishers get influenced by these views, resulting in therestriction of publication to Dalit writing. This anthology has givenan opportunity to these long silenced and neglected voices fromthe fringes of Kerala society to be heard.

The poetic tradition of Kerala Dalits has its origin in the oralculture. Before they began to write down their poetry, they used torefer to their oral renderings as paattu, meaning ‘song.’ Thesesongs were composed around three main themes: their daily labour,history and news (sung by professional singers), and ritualisticpractices.

There was a sharp turn from these traditions in the works ofPoikayil Yohannan. His songs were more individualistic, and directlyaddressed caste issues. He laments—About my race…I see no alphabetabout my race….The story of howa people who lived from times long agoin Keralamcame to be lowly on earth….

The rest of the poets in the anthology differ widely in theircraftsmanship and ideological stands. The poet Raghavan Atholiwrites in a manner of the possessed ritualistic performer—Somebody cleans up the bloodon the claws of the vultures

that fall uponthe half-burnt corpses….Children serve a banquet of justiceand go to their hungry death on the streets. (‘Justice Cooked’)

Dried up river and elusive tideMenstruating goatsRivers that never wash away the pollution…. (‘Where Hunger isSold’)

Some of the poets, on the other hand, experiment with looseprosaic forms. They put on a seemingly detached note even whenit is packed with emotion:

On the hillslope we had a lot of land….Once returning from school,Grandmother saidChild, you needn’t go back there…On what Achachan lost for a bottle of toddy….

Many days later….I lost my ammamma ….… I found she’d left the vegetables and fishOn the banks and was down in the stream washing her face.Not because she felt like weeping. ( S Kalesh ‘Not Because SheFelt Like Weeping)

Though short fiction was produced in Kerala around mid-19th

century, Dalit short fiction emerged in the 20th century, in theperiod known as the ‘Kerala Renaissance.’ A characteristic of thisperiod was zeal for social reformation. TKC Vaduthala’s ‘Sweet-offering at Chankranthy’ included in this volume reflects this. Focuson class exploitation is another characteristic of this period. PaulChirakkarode focuses on Dalit conversion to Christianity and itsrelated problems, represented here by the story ‘Nostalgia.’ CAyyappan, while exploring the Dalit identity, blends a unique craftand sharp intellect. He deals with the issue of Dalit elitism in theintriguing story ‘Madness.’

The novel in Malayalam, first published in 1878, focussed onan explication and analysis of day-to-day life in Kerala right fromthe beginning. The excerpts from novels presented in this collectionalso follow the same trend. Excerpts from When Shackles Break byTKC Vaduthala and The Pulaya Ghetto by Paul Chirakkarodechallenge the Pulayas to stand up for themselves in order to improvetheir status and living conditions. But in The Festival at MuthanKavu, D Rajan affirms the traditional practices of Parayas.

In the drama section, A Santhakumar’s Dreamhunt, a surrealtragic play is presented. And the Life Writings section containsexcerpts from biographical and autobiographical writings.Mangrove planter Kallen Pokkudan’s ‘My Life’ throws light on hisstruggles and the attitudes of people in the society.

While the book offers interesting and moving reading, the Englishlanguage of some of the pieces is quite bad, hindering enjoyment.Barring that, this anthology is definitely worth a perusal.—Malsawmi Jacob

Edited by: M Dasan,V Pratibha, PradeepanPampriikunnu and C SChandrikaPublisher: Oxford University PressNumber of Pages: 322Price: Rs. 595/-

Malayalam Dalit WMalayalam Dalit WMalayalam Dalit WMalayalam Dalit WMalayalam Dalit Writingritingritingritingriting

2.1 HomageIndira GoswamiIndira GoswamiIndira GoswamiIndira GoswamiIndira GoswamiNovember14,1942– November 29, 2011November14,1942– November 29, 2011November14,1942– November 29, 2011November14,1942– November 29, 2011November14,1942– November 29, 2011

Indira Goswamindira Goswamindira Goswamindira Goswamindira Goswami, noted Assamese author, scholar and Jnanpit award winner, popularlyknown as Mamoni Raisom Goswami, died on29th November, 2011, after a prolongedillness. She was 69. She was India’s first PrinceClause Laureate and former professor in DelhiUniversity.

Goswami was involved with various literary,educational and cultural organizations in

various capacities. A member of Sahitya Akademi, she was also amember of the governing body of Delhi University.

She authored several award winning books. Her treatise‘Ramayana from Ganga to Brahmaputra’ is considered a literarymasterpiece.

Goswami had also played a crucial role as a peace-broker whenshe offered to become a mediator between the outlawed UnitedLiberation Front of Asom (ULFA) and the government in 2005.

Condoling her death, Assam Chief Minister Tarun Gogoi saidthe death of writer Indira Raisom Goswami was notonly an “irreparable loss” to Assamese literature,but also to India as a whole.—Malsawmi Jacob

RRRRRani Jethmalaniani Jethmalaniani Jethmalaniani Jethmalaniani Jethmalani, social activist and Supreme Court lawyer passedaway on 31st December, 2011 of terminalillness. Ms. Jethmalani, daughter ofrenowned lawyer Ram Jethmalani, workedrelentlessly for women’s rights. “She wasa fiery social activist,” her brother Mahesh

Jethmalani commented. “She was a crusader for women’s rights.She was in the forefront in the Supreme Court to fight many casesabout dowry, bride-burning,” he said.

Women’s rights issue was very close to Ms. Jethmalani’s heart.She founded the Mahila Dakshata Samiti to campaign against thesocial evils against women. Commit-2-Change, a non-profitorganisation, where she ser ved as a board member,described her as a lawyer who made “most significant advances inthe area of dowry and dowry-death related cases.Her innovative use of public interest litigation in criminal trialschallenged societal and cultural trends.”

She also co-founded the WARLAW (Women’s Action Researchand Legal Action for Women) to research and challenge the outdatedtraditions, and to make the implementation and practice of lawmore gender-neutral. She is survived by an adopted son, who isalso a lawyer.—Malsawmi Jacob

HHHHHomai Vyarawalla, omai Vyarawalla, omai Vyarawalla, omai Vyarawalla, omai Vyarawalla, India’s first womanphoto journalist, died on 15th January,

2012, at age 98. She had captured the flaghoisting ceremony at Red Fort on August 15,1947 and several historic events, and she wasthe 2011 Padma Vibhushan winner.

Homai was the only professional woman photojournalist between1939 and 1970. Her presence in the male-dominated field wassignificant, as the codes of this profession largely continue to excludewomen even today.

An obtrusive photographer who liked to capture her subjects intheir natural poses, Vyarawala has also covered the visits of QueenElizabeth and former US President Dwight D Eisenhower. She tooka number of memorable photographs during her career. Herfavourite subject was Nehru, about whom she remarked that heused to be surprised at seeing her in his functions.

Many of her photographs were published as photo-stories inthe Illustrated Weekly of India, Time, Life, The Black Star, PaulPopper and numerous other international publications.

She also took a series of pictures on a day in the life of Indianfiremen during wartime, right from receiving a distress call to slidingdown poles into an appliance room, from picking up uniforms neatlyarranged in rows to dousing the fire. It appeared in the Illustratedl

SSSSSharada Dwivediharada Dwivediharada Dwivediharada Dwivediharada Dwivedi, the Mumbai based historian and researcher, passed away

on 6th February, 2012 after a brief illness.She was 69. Author of several books onthe history and culture of Mumbai, shewas also on the panel of the MumbaiHeritage Conservation Committee.

Considered Bombay’s finestbiographer, she loved the city with a

passion. Through her writings, she brought to life the history andarchitecture of the city. She is credited with opening the eyes ofmany Mumbaikars to the history in their midst. Among her mostfamous works is Bombay, the Cities Within (1995).

She was the person anyone who wanted to know anything aboutthe city ’s histor y would go to. From students toresearchers, conser vationists to journalists, she was theunquestioned treasure trove of the city’s archives and she sharedher knowledge with a spirit of generosity.

Sharada was also a champion of the city’s heritage. She foughtto save its heritage buildings. She tirelessly raised funds and muchneeded awareness. She was actively involved with the Urban DesignResearch Institute, Kala Ghoda Association and other citizen groups.She is sur vived by her husband and daughter. Not onlyher family, but many others will miss her. Her death is agreat loss to the city of Mumbai.—Malsawmi Jacob

RRRRRani Jethmalaniani Jethmalaniani Jethmalaniani Jethmalaniani Jethmalani1961 –1961 –1961 –1961 –1961 – December 31, 2011 December 31, 2011 December 31, 2011 December 31, 2011 December 31, 2011

Sharada DwivediSharada DwivediSharada DwivediSharada DwivediSharada Dwivedi1942– F1942– F1942– F1942– F1942– Februarebruarebruarebruarebruary 6, 2012y 6, 2012y 6, 2012y 6, 2012y 6, 2012

Homai VyarawallaHomai VyarawallaHomai VyarawallaHomai VyarawallaHomai VyarawallaDecember 9, 1913– JanuarDecember 9, 1913– JanuarDecember 9, 1913– JanuarDecember 9, 1913– JanuarDecember 9, 1913– January 15, 2012y 15, 2012y 15, 2012y 15, 2012y 15, 2012

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2.2Homage

DDDDDr Leela Duber Leela Duber Leela Duber Leela Duber Leela Dube was exceptional in many ways as a feminist anthropologist. Knowninternationally for her contributions, what makesher stand out is the way she brought hersympathy for feminism with the rigour ofanthropology. Conventionally anthropologystudies exotic cultures—the Eskimos, orislanders in South Pacific and so on. The western

scholars who undertook observation and interpretation of theculture of others could not escape the biases of their own context.Though there were some rare exceptions, by and large theirinterpretations missed the indigenous nuances and the views ofthe locals and the meaning they attributed to various functionsand rituals. Leela Dube marked a departure from this in two ways:one by innovative methodology and second by meticulous research.Her work always had a comparative aspect so that she could isolatewhat was different where. Feminist theory as developed in the westpostulated universal patriarchy. Dube provided an importantcorrective by bringing features like kinship that mediated the relationsbetween men and women in non western societies and how agealso mattered. She used folk lore and systematic analysis of symbolsused.

Her study of how ideology works on Hindu girls in patrilinealIndia was an eye opener. Her comparitive study of South and SouthEast Asia brought new knowledge about different kinship systemsand how they affected women’s status. She never failed to concludethat not kinship alone but other hierarchies like class and castemattered.

Apart from being an outstanding scholar, holding many importantpositons in national and international commissions, whatdistinguished Leela Dube was her humility and human kindness,lack of arrogance and encouragement to young scholars. We havelost indeed a rare personality, a feminist friend. That she still publishedat the age of 88, the year before she finally laid down her pen,speaks for her tireless commitment to her creed.—Maithreyi Krishnaraj

MMMMMrinal Gorerinal Gorerinal Gorerinal Gorerinal Gore, a veteran Socialist leader and activist, passed away on 17th July, 2012. Shewas affectionately nicknamed ‘Paniwali Bai’ for herefforts to bring drinking water supply to Goregaon.

The 84 year old former MP was a pioneervisionary. Influenced in her young age by Mahatma

Gandhi’s Quit India movement, she left a promising career inmedicine and joined the fight for social justice, organizing the poorand the disenfranchised. For more than half a century, she wasinvolved in campaigning for women’s rights, civil rights andcommunal harmony.

Along with her husband, Kesav Gore, she worked at buildingbetter civic infrastructure for the masses. When she became anMLA in 1972, she took up issues like atrocities on farmers, Dalits,tribals and women.

Mrinal Gore will be remembered for her contribution in nationbuilding and for helping the underprivileged.—Malsawmi Jacob

Captain Lakshmi Sehgalaptain Lakshmi Sehgalaptain Lakshmi Sehgalaptain Lakshmi Sehgalaptain Lakshmi Sehgal, a veteran freedom fighter, died on 23rd July

2012 at age 97. She was a part of NetajiSubhash Chandra Bose’s IndianNational Army. She commanded the Raniof Jhansi Regiment in the INA.

A doctor by profession, Sehgal wasworking as a medical practitionerand a social worker. She was awarded

Padma Vibhushan in 1998.Lakshmi had chosen to study medicine because of her desire to

help the poor, especially poor women. She received an MBBS degreefrom Madras Medical College in 1938. A year later, she receivedher diploma in gynaecology and obstetrics.In 1940, she left for Singapore, where she established a clinic forthe poor, most of whom were migrant labourers from India. It wasat this time that she began to play an active rolein the India Independence League.

Captain Lakshmi Sehgal has been called ‘one of the lion heartedwomen that India ever had.’ It is said that she ‘fought like a tigress’in the struggle for Indian independence. In later life, as a practisingdoctor in Kanpur, she retained her indomitable spirit and was amajor attraction in seminars and conferences.—Malsawmi Jacob

Remembering Dr Leela DubeRemembering Dr Leela DubeRemembering Dr Leela DubeRemembering Dr Leela DubeRemembering Dr Leela DubeMarMarMarMarMarch 27, 1923– May 20, 2012ch 27, 1923– May 20, 2012ch 27, 1923– May 20, 2012ch 27, 1923– May 20, 2012ch 27, 1923– May 20, 2012

Captain Lakshmi SehgalCaptain Lakshmi SehgalCaptain Lakshmi SehgalCaptain Lakshmi SehgalCaptain Lakshmi SehgalOctober 24, 1914– July 23, 2012October 24, 1914– July 23, 2012October 24, 1914– July 23, 2012October 24, 1914– July 23, 2012October 24, 1914– July 23, 2012

Mrinal GoreMrinal GoreMrinal GoreMrinal GoreMrinal GoreJune 24, 1928– July 17, 2012June 24, 1928– July 17, 2012June 24, 1928– July 17, 2012June 24, 1928– July 17, 2012June 24, 1928– July 17, 2012

Weekly of India in the 1940s.Vyarawala worked under a different professional name and the

identity she had chosen was ‘Dalda 13’. The reasons behind herchoice of this rather amusing name were that her birth year was1913, she got married at the age of 13 and her first car’s numberplate read ‘DLD 13’. She was in the profession for nearly fourdecades before retiring in the early 1970s.—Malsawmi Jacob

Positive change is possible only whenwe understand women’s lives, history and

struggles for self-respect and human dignity

Do write to us if you come to know about a life, abook, a visual, a film or a song which you think mustbe documented in SPARROW. For reviews please send

2 copies of the book.